


Stories in the Stars

by clownfrogg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Condoms, M/M, One Shot, Spoilers, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clownfrogg/pseuds/clownfrogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Destiel, stargazing on the Impala with a tie!kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories in the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [castiel-counts-deans-freckles](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=castiel-counts-deans-freckles).



> Teeny tiny spoilers for season 8.

Cape May Point is located at the southern most tip of New Jersey and it's quiet there; peaceful. If you cut through the woods along the dirt road just off County Highway 606 and trust your instincts, you'll end up right on the beach with a forest against your back and the gray-blue Atlantic Ocean spread before you as far as the eye can see. It's the perfect spot for kicking back with a warm beer and gazing up at the clear night sky after a hunt.

 

Dean prefers the east coast because he likes how the seasons change. As August rolls into September, rain or shine, the Jersey shore would always be there, tucked away where he left it with a sky full of stars and a big red moon sitting just on the horizon. One deep whiff could tell you autumn from the summer, never mind the falling leaves and lengthening shadows.

 

Tonight, the Impala sits parked at an angle on a rough patch of sand while Dean leans back, legs pressed against the bumper, with a bottle of Yuengling in his hand. He twists off the cap and has a swig, rolling the bitter liquid around in his mouth before swallowing. It warms him against the crisp autumn night and when he looks up at the harvest moon and smells fire on the wind, he's glad he came. He inhales again -- fire and salt; as though he’s hunted down the beach itself and burned the supernatural right out of it. 

 

He licks the tangy taste of beach and beer from his lips and gulps down another sip.

 

Nights like this, he’s glad to be alive. After all, it's the little things that make it all worthwhile; that remind him of why he chooses to walk in his father's footsteps and follow a path he already knows will end with his suffering and demise. It's so that other people will have the chance to look up and see beauty. To wonder, innocently, what the future holds and hope that someone hears their prayers.

 

Whatever gets them through the night.

 

Dean sighs and grips the bottle by its neck while he crouches down to pick up a broken shell by his boot. He turns it over in his calloused palm and notices how the smooth, shiny inside contrasts against the harsh outer ridges. Runs the nail of his thumb over it and listens to the washboard rhythm, ignoring the urge to press his ear against it and give audience to its swansong before he tosses the shell back into the ocean again.

 

"It took a year for that clam to wash up on this beach."

 

"Cas." Dean whips his head around to look at him, still marveling at his ninja-like ability to appear out of the blue.

 

"Hello, Dean," Cas says and walks over to stand by the right rear tire, fishing a beer out of the mini cooler propped open on the trunk.

 

For a long time, they don’t speak. For a long time, they haven’t spoken. It’s been weeks and no sign of Cas. Dean can feel the blood pounding in his ears and he’s not sure if he’s even glad to see the angel. He’s not sure if he’s ready to put an end to the silence and chokes down all the words and phrases bubbling up from where his heart is tattooing a forbidden cadence against his ribs.

 

Why did you--? How could you--? And then you left me there--

 

"We gonna share an honest to god drink this time?" The words roll off Dean’s tongue before he has a chance to think, but they seem safe enough for the moment. He studies the long lines of Cas’s body, popping his thumb in and out of the mouth of his own bottle, and wonders if they’ll actually spend the whole night dancing around the subject. Wonders how the future hinges on the conversations and expectations they both have for the night about to unfold.

 

"If you had thanked heaven for whiskey instead of beer, I would have arrived sooner." Cas twists off the cap and fixes his eyes on the sky above as he takes his first sip.

 

"You lush." They’re joking. That’s a good sign. And familiar. Dean pulls on his bottle eagerly, too fast, almost choking on the foam. He wipes the moisture from his top lip and pulls back to see if he spilled any on his favorite AC/DC shirt.

 

Cas comes to stand beside him and together they sip their drinks in amicable silence. For a moment, Dean almost believes they're normal. No monsters, no hunting, no apocalypse or faux-future or soul-selling. Just two dudes hanging out. It's more than he could ever hope for. He looks over at Cas and studies his profile, notices how serious his face gets when he's quiet. But then Cas looks up into his eyes and Dean's face grows serious too. This is it. They’re going to start talking. His stomach is effectively twisted in knots.

 

"Why do people name the stars?" Cas's voice cuts through the thick lull of rolling waves like gravel soaked whiskey and a subwoofer, startling Dean with his frank curiosity. He tries to repress a shiver and picks at the Yuengling label, brow furrowing as he searches for an answer to the most unexpected question Cas could’ve asked.

 

"I dunno, man. Guess the Greeks named 'em to keep track of all the stories," he says, looking up to find Pegasus.

 

"What stories?" Cas takes another swallow and Dean watches the Adam's apple bob in his throat.

 

"Like Pegasus."

 

"Pegasus?"

 

"There," Dean points with the tip of his bottle. "Pegasus. It's a uh...a horse with wings."

 

"I don't see a winged horse." Cas squints at the sky skeptically, stuffing one hand into his coat pocket.

 

"Look, right there." Dean moves closer, using his finger as a guide. "He's a box with four legs. Not exactly a looker, but..." he shrugs. "Pegasus. He helped this dude rescue his girlfriend from a sea monster."

 

"I see," Cas puts the bottle to his lips thoughtfully, but doesn't sip. After a long moment, filled with the sound of Dean tearing his label into small strips, Cas says, "A flying horse seems like a poor mode of transportation for a sea battle." He swallows down a mouthful of beer.

 

Dean's face splits into a smile and he forgets about the blood on his jacket and the guilt in his heart. He pushes the hunt to the back of his mind and soaks in Cas's naivety -- or is it sarcasm this time? -- and is glad that to have his friend with him tonight. He claps a hand over Cas's shoulder and points up at the stars again with his bottle.

 

"Okay. How 'bout the Great Bear?"

 

"I don't see a bear either," Cas furrows his brow.

 

"Watch," Dean leans in and bumps his shoulder against Cas's, tracing out Ursa Major above their heads. "This hot virgin was knocked up by Zeus, so he turned her into a bear to keep everybody from finding out."

 

"He was protecting her," Cas says, and Dean can feel the rumble of his friend's voice in his own chest. 

 

“Sounds about right.”

 

"But it was his fault to begin with; he shamed her." Cas fixes him with that electric blue gaze and Dean feels like his soul is being laid bare. They can’t go there yet; he’s not ready for it.

 

“It’s just a story,” he mutters around the mouth of his bottle and knocks back the last dredges of alcohol. He feels Cas’s eyes on him still, tracing over his face and chest as he puts the empty bottle back into the cooler and reaches for another. “Quit it,” he says, and Cas finally looks away.

 

Dean takes a drink. His throat clicks painfully when he swallows because he sees Cas shift his weight and gear up for the conversation he’s not ready to have. 

 

“Have I shamed you?”

 

They lock eyes, the bottle halfway to Dean’s mouth. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as Cas looks right into his soul for something -- an answer, a response, he isn't sure how to give. Their faces are so close -- lips just a breadth away -- and the little hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand anxiously at attention. He wonders how a bear made out of stars changed the mood so suddenly. 

 

“Do I look like a virgin nymph?” His voice is flat and he swallows down a slew of dangerous ideas. Don’t go there. It’s too much. It’s too soon. They just can’t.

 

"Because I kissed you," Cas says, “before.” His eyes are blue-black now, pupils blown wide.

 

That's the moment when it breaks for Dean.

 

The admission scares the hell out of him and he remembers the last time they tried to share a drink. Remembers how, mid-laugh, Cas leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, then caught his lips and stole his breath away. What the hell were they even talking about? To this day, Dean can’t remember anything but the sound of his own heart in his ears as Cas pulled back to look at him for approval; for permission.

 

How swiftly Dean had cut him down with just a look. Cas wilted, but he didn’t apologize; didn't say anything; didn't get angry. Didn’t know what to do until Dean wiped his mouth on his forearm and muttered, “Dudes don’t kiss other dudes, Cas,” and decided his friend still needed lessons in basic human interaction. 

 

Cas just disappeared; and after that night, he stopped turning up at all. 

 

Having to quit what they had, and going cold turkey only made Dean take to hunting and drinking more aggressively. At first, he denied that it even happened. He was drunker than he’d been in a long time that night – incessantly consuming alcohol with the death of every demon left on the wrong side of the Hell Gates. He was having a good time, dammit, and what if Cas had only stumbled into him? What if it was just his imagination running wild? Maybe Cas was just being Cas and it was all some kind of crazy misunderstanding. There’s no rhyme or reason for his best friend to want to lay one on him, so it just didn’t happen, alright?

 

Denial lasted until the end of the week. Then, he got angry. 

 

Okay. So, Cas kissed him. The moron. Cas knows full well that Dean doesn’t do that kind of thing with other guys. He just doesn’t. He likes women. Boobs. When he’s lonely, he wants a long-haired, long-legged, pouty-lipped, soft, curvy body in his bed; and that? Well, that just isn’t Cas. Contrary to this idea going around that Dean’s obsession with porn and his mastery of the art of the One Night Stand correlates to overcompensation – no, you know what? Bullshit. That’s what. Dean doesn’t overcompensate. He genuinely likes having sex and making out with women. He’s a lady killer – no pun intended – and that’s just the way it is. Screw Cas for stealing away a kiss that Dean had no intention of ever giving away. In fact, Cas can go fuck himself if thinks he can undo decades worth of aggressive heterosexual mentality.

 

But another week and no word from Cas made Dean’s anger fizzle up and fade away because he suddenly found himself consciously having to stop his mind from wandering back to that night. From remembering the feel of that warm mouth and solid body pressed against him. From praying to Cas that he didn’t mean it; that he knows he’s got issues and he knows they’re not supposed to talk about it, but maybe he doesn’t care about that anymore. No, the reality is, he’d give anything not to have these thoughts anymore. He feels weird and confused and he doesn’t like it – so what if he traded thinking about kissing Cas with actually kissing a woman? Perfect. He goes to a bar, picks up the cutest chick in the joint, and takes her back to the motel so they can fuck like he hasn’t fucked anybody in years. Marathon sex. But it doesn’t go as planned. There she is, dark haired beauty with big blue eyes, crawling up between his legs, nuzzling her face against the bulge in his jeans, latching onto his hips with a pair of strong hands, pressing a hot, sensual kiss to his lips, and Dean waits for the scrape of stubble against his jaw but it never comes. Why the hell would it? She’s not Cas.

 

Oh, fuck.

 

Okay.

 

She’s not Cas. She’s not Cas. Talk about a kick in the pants.

 

Week three rolls by and Dean just gets down on himself. He knows it’s fucked up that they kissed; he knows they’ve been through hell and high waters; but he can’t figure out why Cas hasn’t come back yet of his own accord. And he can’t figure out how to fix it – how to roll this water under the bridge and go back to what they used to have. It’s an absolute crock that they can’t just turn back time or pretend it never happened; but there’s the rub. It did happen. And Dean isn’t exactly sure he wants to undo it. All he knows is that he misses Cas the way he’s never missed anybody before. It’s somehow worse than Purgatory because this time, he made a conscious decision to let Cas go. After all those years of hunting together, learning all the little things about each other, teaching each other, teasing each other, becoming friends, becoming enemies, picking up the pieces and dropping the shields around one another – how could one little kiss undo them?

 

Dean spends another week just drowning his sorrows. It’s pathetic, sure, but he refuses to be the first to break. There’s still his pride.

 

Week five, Dean gets a little horny thinking about the kiss – the taboo of it all. He wonders what Cas is like in bed. Remembers back to the night at the brothel when Cas was all nerves and panic. Wonders if Cas would be shy and take it ass up or belly up. Wonders if it would be all whispers and sweet talk and – ugh. Dean almost loses it over how nuts it is to think of Cas as the blushing virgin. No way, man. That night at the brothel was because the dude thought he was gonna die. Hell, Dean’s seen the kind of porn Cas watches: spanking and punishing and naughty girls. He remembers the night they burned Crowley’s bones and how Cas slammed Meg up against the wall and kissed her like he owned her. Dean saw him fist a hand in her hair and pull. He squeezes at the base of his cock and now he’s wondering what it would be like to get fucked. Could he do it? Does he want it like that? Then, he remembers Rhonda Hurley for the second time in ten years. Getting him to try on her pink satin panties wasn’t the only thing that made their rendezvous unforgettable. He distinctly recalls her mouth on his dick and the tip of her finger sliding into him – it was kinky and new, and he spent half an hour trying to clean the dried come off the backseat of the Impala. In fact, that finger trick was also a Lisa Braeden “Midnight Special” when they were feeling particularly adventurous during their year-long sexcapades.

 

Week six and Dean’s in bed teasing a finger up his ass, thinking about what it would feel like to have a cock fucking him open from the inside. He wonders how big Cas is and comes onto the sheets with a shuddery moan.

 

Oh god, he’s got it bad.

 

Now, Cas thinks Dean’s ashamed. And he is. But only because the thought of being with Cas makes him fall to pieces and he doesn’t like it. He hates feeling weak. He needs to wrestle back control of everything before it’s too late. Before he comes undone. And Cas is standing there looking at him so plainly, with such raw, naked, concern. But he doesn’t understand that Dean’s already been an angel’s one night stand and how badly it hurts.

 

The silence stretches on and Cas’s eyes darken.

 

“Dean.”

 

"Cas, what did I tell you--" His rebuke is silenced by the sudden press of Cas's lips against his own. Just like before. Just like he’d done nothing but think about for the last six weeks. That bastard. He grips the lapels of the suit jacket under Cas's coat and moves to push Cas away like last time; wants to reject him and hurt him and make him understand that this isn't what you do with your friends. That it isn't fair to use him this way. That isn't right to make a promise he can't keep. But then he feels a warm hand curl around his hip and the other rests flat against the small of his back. 

 

The desire to escape dies that very instant, replaced with the desperate urge to hold onto Cas and never let go. It hurts to feel this good. The pain makes his throat feel tight and he breaks the kiss, turns his face away to suck in a deep breath, wondering how it ever got like this. 

 

If he was necking with anybody else...

 

But he isn't. This is Cas; this is his best friend and fellow dude; and it makes Dean feel like old scars are being ripped open and prodded at with a curious finger.

 

"I can't," he means to say it firmly, but it comes out more like a plea. Like he's begging Cas to convince him and change his mind and make him feel like his skin isn't crawling. Cas is the only man he’s ever kissed but he stuffs that realization down deep because it's not even the biggest issue here. He feels the unresolved tension and knows it needs to be addressed; but if they say the wrong stuff, if they mess it up, this thing they have between them could be screwed up forever and he doesn't want that; he doesn't want to lose his friend. They’ve been through enough. But his heart hurts because he knows Cas doesn't understand what this does to him; doesn't understand how he aches inside.

 

"You don't want me," Cas lets go of Dean to rest his palms on the trunk on either side of him. "Say it."

 

"Screw you," Dean glares up at him and Cas glares right back, the two of them locked in heated silence. But then Cas knocks Dean's legs open and moves to stand between them as he leans in and steals another hungry kiss.

 

"Dammit, Cas--!" Dean gropes the front of Cas's chest for purchase as his back hits the cooler and sends it tumbling onto the sand. He wraps a hand around Cas's tie as he slams against the Impala and groans into the third, fourth, fifth hot kiss.

 

"Cas," he says, feeling breathless and winded. Like Cas kissed all the air out of his lungs and left him dizzy for more. He tugs at the tie, drawing Cas in close again, parting his lips in anticipation.

 

"You want me," Cas's voice is low and husky. Heat pools in the pit of Dean's stomach as the blood rushes down to his groin. "Say it."

 

Dean's breath hitches. He's effectively stunned by the sudden change in his friend's demeanor. He thought he'd be the one to take charge and manhandle and say all the cool lines.

 

"Make me," Dean hisses as Cas pulls him closer by the hips, bringing their bodies flush against each other.

 

Oh shit.

He'd been complacent; he'd forgotten they weren't just two regular guys sharing beer and stories, but a monster hunter and a freaking angel. A really strong and powerful angel who, despite his quirks and odd sense of humor, is really tough and scary when he wants to be.

 

Dean feels the rough drag of stubble over his jaw as Cas presses warm, soft kisses against his skin. 

 

"Fuck," Dean leans his head back, gripping Cas's arms for support, legs hanging open and making him feel pretty damn vulnerable under the solid body above him.

 

"Yes," Cas whispers, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Dean's jeans.

 

"Yes, what?" Dean groans, head lolling to the side as Cas sucks a mark low on his neck.

 

"That's what I want," Cas sucks at the hollow of Dean's throat and feels his pulse spike.

 

"What?" Dean sits up quickly, knocking the top of his head against Cas's chin.

 

"What..?" Cas moves back, startled, blinking at Dean.

 

"No, what?"

 

"What?"

 

"Cas, for god's sake!" Dean snaps, still holding him by the tie.

 

Cas falls silent and just stares at him for a moment when finally, it dawns on him what he wants to say. Before Dean can open his mouth, Cas leans in again, all nerves of steel and blue-balled to hell.

 

"I want to fuck you," he grunts.

 

Dean's jaw goes slack and he's gaping. It's the first time he's ever heard Cas swear and he'll never admit to the way it makes his cock twitch.

 

"Oh Christ," he says and reels Cas in by the tie, knowing he'll hate himself in the morning as their lips meet again.

 

Dean feels the soft swipe of Cas's tongue and groans into his mouth. How Cas can be so bold and so innocent at the same time just blows his mind. He cups the back of Cas's neck, tilts his head to get the right angle, and deepens the kiss, feeling Cas's calloused hands on his thighs. Then, he feels fingers at his fly, popping the button, lowering the zip, and slipping inside to brush against his cock through the fabric of his boxer briefs.

 

Cas rubs at him uncertainly, like he's never actually touched one before.

 

"That's it," Dean murmurs encouragingly, pushing his hips up. Cas glances up into his eyes before dipping his hand in through the flap. He wraps those long fingers around the shaft and squeezes gently before stroking once up and down.

 

Dean pushes into his hand, ignoring the stuttery dry slide. It's been so long since anybody's touched him, he doesn't even care. Cas continues the motion a few more times, staring at what he's doing when suddenly, Dean winds the tie once more around his hand and pulls Cas up again. 

 

Their eyes meet, Dean's half-lidded with purpose and Cas's wide and eager; ready to please. For a long moment, they stay like that – on the brink of needy desperation, hesitating because the unfamiliar territory is somehow more daunting than either of them could have imagined. 

 

“Dean,” Cas murmurs his name reverently, breathlessly – angels don’t even need to breathe – and the walls of Jericho come tumbling down as Dean spreads his legs for Cas and grips his shoulders tight. Funny how Cas can make him fall to pieces with just a look or a few soft-spoken words.

 

Cas backs up suddenly and Dean’s heart drops into his stomach. He wonders wildly if Cas has changed his mind, but the thought is banished just as swiftly as Cas yanks him down off the car. Dean feels pressure on his hips as Cas spins him around and bends him over the trunk. He pulls so Dean has to arch his back and balance on spread legs to stay where Cas puts him. He feels so dirty – exposed – being pinned and dragged and subjugated like this. His whole body is burning with the need to be used up and fucked open until there’s nothing left of him to claim.

 

He feels those hands on his ass, kneading and squeezing at him, then spreading him open. Dean ducks his head self-consciously, feeling Cas’s eyes on his body. He bends a little more and his cock drags along the sleek black trunk, leaving a small wet trail of sticky pre-come in its wake.

 

“Back pocket—” Dean chokes out.

 

Cas reaches down and fishes out Dean’s wallet. He sees the foil poking out and removes the condom from the little slot. Lubricated; Ribbed for her pleasure.

 

“I don’t know what to do with this,” Cas admits, dropping Dean’s wallet onto the sand. He tears open the packet and holds the clear, moist latex circle in his palm.

 

“Pinch the tip; roll it on,” Dean grunts.

 

So, Cas pinches the tip and rolls the condom over his length, hands trembling with anticipation. He remembers back to the videos he’s seen; remembers how it was with Daphne – so quiet and quick; he couldn’t see anything in the darkness of their bedroom. She was a good Christian woman, and the sex was just sex. She’d lie back with her legs open for him. He’d crawl on top, kissing her how she liked, and push inside with some difficulty. She’d let him thrust; she’d moan his name (“Emmanuel--!”); she’d cling to him with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist until he came inside her with a grunt. It was always over faster than he wanted it to be and after they’d finished, she’d peck his lips, whisper goodnight, and roll onto her side so he could curl his body around hers. He’d hold her to his chest until he fell asleep, but in the morning, they were always on opposite sides of the bed.

 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice cuts through the memories sharply and Cas places a soothing hand on his side.

 

“I’m here.”

 

He decides to brush a finger, moist with lubricant from the condom, over Dean’s hole in soft circles, licking his lips when Dean lets out a throaty moan. He wiggles the tip inside, feeling how tightly the muscle envelops him. 

 

“Oh fuck—” Dean squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face against his forearms. He feels the finger slide in deeper and deeper, stroking and caressing him intimately the way no one’s ever touched him before. It’s better than Rhonda; it’s better than Lisa; it’s better than he could ever touch himself and his breath catches at the back of his throat as Cas goes exploring. He stays very still, trying to relax against the intrusion, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that this is Cas inside him. That Cas kissed him and wants him and wants to be with him.

 

Cas begins to thrust a little with his finger, curling and uncurling it, gently working him open because he’s so tight and so new to all this. It makes Cas’s chest flare up to know that he’s the first. He leans over Dean’s back and leaves a trail of fiery kisses along the curve of his neck, sucking on the marks he’s already made to further stake his claim.

 

“C’mon,” Dean moans and grinds back against Cas’s hand. He feels a second finger slide in alongside the first, filling him up, stretching him out, leaving behind a slight burn with every push and pull. Slowly, though, the fire begins to ease into liquid-hot pleasure and Dean’s breath comes in short bursts. “Yeah,” he breathes, “that’s it. Yeah—”

 

Cas can’t take it anymore. He slides his fingers out and rubs the head of his cock against Dean’s relaxed hole, eliciting a husky groan that he feels pass from Dean’s body right into his chest. 

 

“Do it,” Dean says, “c’mon, Cas.”

 

Cas holds Dean open and pushes slowly inside, clenching his jaw and steeling himself against the overwhelming urge to buck his hips and shove past the resisting muscle. 

 

Dean lets out a string of soft, broken sounds from the back of his throat as Cas breeches him and stretches him impossibly wide. It’s too big – there’s no way – it won’t fit – it burns – it’s too much, it’s too much – then suddenly, Dean feels the soft glide and the fullness of having Cas buried deep inside him and he exhales shakily.

 

“Okay,” he says, voice thick from the pain and anxiety. He relaxes his white-knuckled grip on the trunk and rests his palms flat there for support. 

 

Cas grunts affirmatively and circles his arms around Dean, resting his head in the crook of Dean’s neck and shoulder. He rolls his hips, nudging Dean’s chest and stomach against the car, then again and again until he’s working up a steady rhythm.

 

It burns, but it’s good. Dean stays perfectly still as he tries to get used to the slide and push. He feels his length begin to soften a bit from lack of touch and contact, but it’s oddly settling because he’s starting to like how Cas makes him feel full and – cheesy enough – complete.

 

Cas pumps his hips harder, the slap of his sweat-slick skin against Dean’s creating an odd cadence with the roiling waves in the distance. Dean arches his back sharply, brow furrowed as he concentrates on the pleasure that makes his toes curl inside his boots. He wonders briefly if this is what sex feels like for a woman – He’s so loose and relaxed and wet from the lubed up condom; full and explored so completely and intimately; pressed tight against the car and pinned down by Cas’s hot, heavy body.

Suddenly, he feels a burst of pleasure as Cas shifts slightly to get a better angle. 

 

“I hurt you?” Cas pants, concerned.

 

But Dean is beyond words at this point. He reaches back to fist a hand in Cas’s hair and tugs sharply, encouraging him, egging him on.

 

Cas grits his teeth and fucks harder into him, gripping his hips so tightly, Dean is sure that bruises are already forming. That wave of pleasure washes over him again and he lets out a strangled moan. He’s never had an orgasm without somebody touching his dick before, but there’s a first time for everything. He feels himself getting hard again, the pain long since forgotten.

 

“Harder—” he chokes out, and Cas obliges. The car rocks beneath them on her struts, letting out a few creaks and groans, buried under the sound of Dean’s ragged panting and Cas’s balls slapping against his ass. Dean arches sharply, spreading his legs even wider, the warmth exploding in the pit of his stomach as his balls draw up tight against his body. He tries to say Cas’s name, but it comes out like a strangled cry almost an octave higher than the pitch his voice is used to. He just keeps on making that breathy, keening sound as Cas pumps his hips. He feels a couple bursts of heat and knows that Cas is coming inside him; the condom must’ve broken. Cas grunts roughly against his ear, and then Dean’s reaching down between his legs. He grips himself and strokes only once before he’s spurting all over the bumper. Cas rolls his hips a few more times, then pulls out while Dean’s still loose and pliant. It doesn’t hurt, but Dean can’t help feeling disappointed by the emptiness. He stays put for a moment, catching his breath, his body still pulsating from the strength of his orgasm. He feels the come seep out and roll down the inside of his thigh and reaches quickly to wipe it away. 

 

Behind him, Cas peels off the condom and drops it onto the sand, panting softly. For a long moment, they both stay still and quiet.

 

Cas fucked him. He came inside him. Dean can still feel it. He’ll probably feel it for days. When he turns around, Cas launches himself forward and pins Dean against the car again, kissing him like he’s a drowning man and Dean is oxygen. Flustered, Dean breaks the kiss and tugs up his pants, quickly stuffing himself inside. He looks up into Cas’s smoldering eyes and suddenly, there it is – the sense of control he’s been missing all along is smacking him the face. He’s got Cas wrapped around his little finger; can drive him wild with a wink or a kiss or a cuss. Now, they just have to figure out where to take this; where to go from here. So, he chooses his next words carefully.

 

“C’mon,” he says, fixing the front of Cas’s pants for him, remembering something from a future that hasn’t been written. “It’s you and me, pal. Let’s get outta here.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Anywhere. Everywhere. We’re all we got left. Just ‘cause the Gates are closed don’t mean we’re done.”

 

“What about Sam?” Cas leans in and touches his forehead to Dean’s.

 

“Let him be,” Dean cups a hand around the back of Cas’s neck, feeling for the first time in his life like he’s got something he can call his own. He knows Sam will find his way and it’s time he let his brother live. He remembers the light in Sam’s eyes and how brightly it shined whenever he spoke of Amelia and hell, if that’s Sam’s little slice of Heaven on this godforsaken hunk of rock, then that’s something Dean can get behind – ‘cause he’s got his own slice right here and this time, he’s not letting it go.


End file.
